


Hotlock Week 2020

by Kiyuo_Honoo



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27534085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiyuo_Honoo/pseuds/Kiyuo_Honoo
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Hot Rod
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30
Collections: HotLock Week 2020





	1. Teeth

Deadlock had the nerve to laugh as the small Autobot snapped tiny denta at him. It was pathetic really. Autobots couldn’t cause the same amount of damage to a Decepticon as they could to them, not when they didn’t wield the fangs many Decepticons had. Hmm. Deadlock narrowed his optics at the fiery Autobot, cocking his helm slightly as he took notice that unlike many of the ‘bots he’s fought, this one was doing his best to keep his denta hidden. Even the snapping was quick and his lips hadn’t been pulled back to bare them.

Taking the few steps needed to get to the ‘bot, Deadlock put his ped on the small shoulder and pushed the brightly colored mech onto his back, placing his ped on the small chassis to keep him still. Leaving his ped and putting a decent amount of weight that he heard metal creaking, the Decepticon leaned down and reached for the ‘bot’s mouth.

At the next snap of denta, he shoved his thumb roughly into the ‘bot’s mouth, grinning at the gagging sound the action brought forth, “Ah, ah, no biting, or I’ll have to bite you back.”

He hummed, shoving another digit into the ‘bot’s mouth and prying it open even as the smaller mech tried to keep his mouth shut and was growling at him. Deadlock only laughed at the tiny growl, especially once he realized it wasn’t coming from the mech’s engine but from his vocalizer.

“Itty bitty growl for an itty bitty mech. Now open your mouth before I break your jaw,” the taunt got him another growl but the mech at least stopped trying to hold his mouth open and allowed Deadlock to finally pry it open wide.

He used his free hand to pull back the leaking derma covering the denta and whistled.

“Well look at that. Didn’t know you had fangs. Sure are itty bitty just like you.” He felt the tips before taking his fingers away and stepping off the ‘bot.

The flame-colored mech rolled to his peds as Deadlock stepped away, spitting energon in his direction and _finally_ baring his denta at him, “Fragger.”

“Cute.” Deadlock stuck out his glossa and bared his own fangs in a grin before turning on his heel and transforming before speeding off to the sound of the Autobot cursing him out.


	2. Tension

“This is definitely not what I expected to happen.” Hot Rod whined loudly to the ceiling, just to annoy the growling Decepticon he was stuck with.

“This is all your fault.”

Hot Rod sputtered, helm snapping to scowl down at the Decepticon he was stuck sitting on, “How is this _my_ fault?! I’m not the one who slagged off their high command!” He went to smack Deadlock upside the helm but his wrist was caught in a tight grip.

“Don’t.” The growl vibrated through his chassis as a warning, one Hot Rod didn’t care to listen to as he swatted out with his free hand and managed to smack the slagger on a finial. Which he knew had to hurt.

Deadlock growled and grabbed his wrist, pinning them both down with a glare.

Hot Rod tried not to shift or advert his eyes from the glare, he didn’t need any more tension between them in such a small space by taking a glance at the bared fang he could see out the corner of his optic.

Primus, Hot Rod was doomed.


	3. Fixation

It wasn’t right, but Deadlock couldn’t stop himself. Didn’t _want_ to stop himself. Not when the small Autobot was so interesting. The bright colors that matched that flaming personality. The races the other was willing to participate in with him.

He was fixated and he didn’t want to stop.

Even now, when they were both on the same battlefield, Deadlock wouldn’t shoot Hot Rod. He just couldn’t pull the trigger. And he didn’t dare try to stop his fellow Decepticons from attacking him. Not only would it do well to cause him to be labeled a traitor but the last time he shot down a fellow Decepticon to save Hot Rod’s spark, the spitfire went off on him for it.

Unfortunately, that seemed to have made his fixation _worse_. Deadlock could only pray that Megatron, or any of high command, ever found out about it. Or Hot Rod was sure to become an empty husk.


	4. Brand

This brat put too much trust in him. Every time they met up for these rendezvous, the thoughts always filtered through Deadlock's processor. They were still enemies even if they did meet up to spend what little time they could together, no talk of war or what their factions were doing.

They didn't meet up to give out secrets for the other. An unspoken rule made since the first meeting they had.

And now here they were, laying together on an outcropping a distance from either of their hidden teams. It was a miracle neither side realized the other was stationed so close to the other on this planet yet. But it worked in Deadlock's and Hot Rod's favor.

The two had been quick to seek the other out at a location away from their teams and just sit in each other's company.

They usually would have raced or sparred but it was too risky this time. Neither wanted to be caught, even if Deadlock was more than capable of tapping off each Autobot before they got close.

It just wasn’t worth the hassle.

Claws tapped at the red badge on Hot Rod’s chest. He wanted to claw it off, leave scratches from where he tore it off, and rend the piece of metal to scrap to the point that only what paint was left was a giveaway of what faction it belonged to. Their badges weren’t made like Decepticon’s were. It wouldn’t _matter_ if he gouged it into an indistinguishable piece of metal.

He wouldn’t do it. Hot Rod would only end up angry at him and probably never speak to him again. It didn’t stop him from doing what he did next though.

Slipping his claws under the metal, he pulled the Autobot brand off and set it in the dirt beside Hot Rod. It took him a few kliks to get the never to finally slip his badge off his chest and place it in the place Hot Rod’s lay.

The purple contrasted against the orange and red and _if only Hot Rod would join him_. But the Decepticons were losing their way. Probably already have. And Deadlock wasn’t going to put Hot Rod on Megatron’s radar.

Deadlock grunted as he took his badge back and replaced Hot Rod’s. But not before scratching a mark into the small area covered by his badge. There, now he was marked and Primus help anyone who thought to hurt him without any reason.


	5. Temporary

“What. The. Frag.” Deadlock could only stare at Hot Rod, his lip curling to show a fang at the sight his optics were forced to see.

Hot Rod looked down at himself and looked back up at the face the Decepticon was making, “What? Not like I had a choice to paint myself like this. And it’s temporary anyway. Sheesh.”

Deadlock very much wanted to _disagree_ on that front if only because of how _bad_ the paint to his optics was. Especially on such a speedster frame like Hot Rod’s that definitely deserved to be bright and flashy. He didn’t know many with such paint like that and if they _did_ have such a color, it was offset with brighter paint. Or they just weren’t so... _dull_ and unappealing to look at.

Frag, even the Stunticons (barring Motormaster of course) were flashy even with most of them having dark paint. He put it down to how glossy they kept themselves. The bunch of crazies.

“That’s a matte color isn’t it?” Deadlock growled, face still scrunched up at the sight.

“Yep! At least it’s brown, you should see Springer, he’s pretty unhappy with what Kup dumped on him.” Hot Rod squinted up at Deadlock, crossing his arms and flicking his now black spoiler in agitation, “Just be glad this is temporary. It’ll wear off on its own. Until then Kup says we gotta keep the colors.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“I know.”

“...It’s not _you_.”

“....I know.”


	6. Taunt

“I’m  _ totally _ better at it than you are.”

Deadlock just raised an optic ridge at the small fiery bot straddling his thighs. There wasn’t much room in the hole they found themselves in, and Deadlock wasn’t going to be responsible for accidentally crushing Hot Rod by having the smaller bot under his heavier frame.

“Really now?” He shifted his knees up, chuckling as Hot Rod slid forward and smacked into his chassis, quite a few filthy glyphs escaping the brat.

Deadlock snatched Hot Rod’s chin between his fingers, brushing his claws against the soft derma of his face without leaving a scratch. He leaned down the short distance, brushing their nasal ridges together, and purred, “Why don’t we meet up a later time and you can show me how good you actually are.”

The rush of energon flushed the Autobot’s entire faceplate. And even with Deadlock still having a grip of his chin, Hot Rod managed to cover most of his face with his hands as a high pitched, embarrassed noise left his vocalizer.

How cute.


	7. Rush

Deadlock stared down at Hot Rod as the Autobot laughed, a sudden urge overcoming him and loosening his vocalizer and causing him to blurt the words out, “Can I kiss you?”

Hot Rod’s laughter died, wide, sparkling blue optics gazing up at him. A flush was high on his cheeks and Deadlock didn’t know if it was from his question or the rush of the race and ensuring laughter.

Hot Rod nodded.

And Deadlock leaned down.

Their lips meet.


	8. DriftRod Day

Engines revved softly in the darkened room as the speedsters lay close together. Digits were interlocked and held between their chests, right in front of their sparks, and legs lay entwined. The only light in the room was the glow of their biolights, the dimness of their optics, and the small glow of their partially bared sparks.

Earlier, when they had first laid on the berth, Drift had interlocked their digits and started doing slow chirolinguistics. Rodimus was slow in his replies but Drift had the patience and even helped when he stumbled or needed a correction. Words barely left their lips, only soft whispers that were practically swallowed by the other from how close their helms and mouths were.

It was a while as they laid there when their chest plates slowly parted enough to shine their spark light upon each other.

Neither bothered to shield their sparks away. Not when there was so much trust that had grown between them.

They fell into recharge like that. Sparks partially bared and entwined on the berth that was just big enough to fit them as they stayed curled close together.


End file.
